Taking Care
by raven2547
Summary: Wes was always the one people came to to get things taken care of. He was dependable, reliable, responsible. He's been that way for a long time.


I have recently begun rewatching Common Law and I can't stop... I mean it's so fantastic, I would probably go so far as to say it was the first TV show I've ever really watched and loved, and I haven't liked one since this one left the air. I love everything about it, and the fandom is great... So that's why I felt I needed to add a bit more to it. There's never enough, and recently I've been reading especially on mizu's tumblr, so this is inspired largely by her.

Please forgive any mistakes, no beta.

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Marilyn Mitchell carefully scooped up her son, Wesley, off the floor of the hospital room. Together they knelt over the hospital crib that housed the newest member of their family, Jennifer Adelaide. Wesley was five years older than her, and for the months leading up to her birth he was so excited to be a big brother. The little boy helped paint her room, put together her crib, and promised to do everything possible for her. It was clear that he already loved the baby girl so much.

She had white blonde hair, just like all the Mitchells, and all ten toes and fingers. She was perfect with her little scrunched up face and her mittens. Marilyn leaned down further so Wesley could touch her hair.

"She's really soft, Mommy," Wesley said, and pulled his hand back, "and really tiny. Will I squish her? She'll get bigger, right?" Marilyn chuckled and sat in the chair next to the bed, letting Wesley stand on her knees to continue looking down at his sister.

"Yeah, she'll get bigger. And then you guys can play together, if you're not too old for her then," she said teasingly. Wesley immediately straightened up and puffed out his chest. He was a no-nonsense little boy, and quite stubborn (he got that from his mother, thank you).

"I'll never get sick of her. I love her," he said adamantly, and Marilyn believed him.

"Then I'm going to ask you to do something very important for me, Wesley," And Wesley looked at her with all the wisdom a five year old can muster, and paid serious attention, "I know you'll do a good job. You're already so good at it now." The blonde boy stared at his mother calmly, already accepting a mantle he'd carry until he died.

"Just do this for me, Wesley. Take care of her for us, ok? Be the best big brother you can be. Protect her, make her happy, and don't leave her alone... Can you do that for me?" Marilyn asked seriously. She and her husband, Drew, who was sleeping in the other chair asleep, were both only children and had grown up alone with nobody for companionship, which was why they agreed to have two kids so they'd never be alone. It was important to both of them that the two siblings had a good bond.

"I promise, Mommy, I'll be the best big brother _ever_."

"That's my good boy."

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Drew Mitchell had the perfect life if you asked him. A loving wife, a beautiful daughter, and a dutiful son. There was nothing he wanted for in life save for his family's happiness and security. He and his wife just celebrated their 25 anniversary last weekend. His daughter just entered medical school to become a pediatrician. His son was on the fast track to becoming a lawyer at one of the leading law firms in the country. Drew couldn't be happier.

There are things you do in life to make sure the people you love are safe. When he married Marilyn, Drew opened a life insurance policy on himself. When they conceived Wesley, he opened a separate bank account and began a trust vault-same with Jennifer. When he started getting on in years... he thought about his family.

As a realist, Drew realized that Marilyn was a strong woman who would be fine on her own. But he also realized that they were a matched set. When he went, a part of her would go with him, and he worried for that part. Compulsively, he straightened his tie in the mirror of his bathroom. Even though he was meeting Wesley for lunch, it wouldn't do to dress down. Mitchells were formal.

Wesley was everything a man could want in a son. He was driven, competitive, proud, intelligent, and kind, for the most part. While he was all of these things, he was also stubborn and prone to hubris, and he also struggled to apologize sometimes. Drew knew all of this, and he loved his son. Wesley was responsible. At five his mother asked him to be his sister's guardian angel and the boy became a bodyguard. The boy loved his family.

Drew sat himself down at the table after a friendly handshake with his son. They were out on the patio of a local cafe. The conversation flowed from topic to topic, and eventually there was a lull, which Drew used effectively. He began by telling Wesley about how he was getting older, yadayada, nothing anyone wants to say about themselves, and then lead into how if and when he should... pass on, that Wesley would-

"Wesley, I'm asking as your father and as a man who loves his family. I need you to help me. When I go, I don't want your mother to waste away. I don't want your sister to be pushed out to sea. I need you to keep our family a family when I can't anymore. Take care of them when I'm gone... can you do that for me, Wesley?" He asked, and stretched out his hand to pat his son's white knuckled grip on his cup. Wesley was stronger than he realized, in more ways than one.

"I... Dad, you know I will. You're not in trouble or something, right?" The kid's blue eyes stared terrified at his father, like the man would just turn to ash right in front of him. Drew smiled, relieved, and patted Wesley on the shoulder.

"It never hurts to be prepared, Wesley, and no. I feel so much better now. Thank you, son."

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Wesley Mitchell walked down the halls of Pearson-Hardman at a leisurely pace, flipping through his file of incoming interns. Chadwick, Brussels, Michellan, Sully, and Spectre topped the list. As a recent graduate of one of the premier law schools in the country, Wesley recognized three of the five names on the list. All were members of the academic elite at his alma-mater, as he had been, so he knew them as freshman when he was a senior. Especially Harvey Spectre.

The guy was nice and dressed well. He spoke quickly and smoothly, with words that felt like they were rehearsed but probably came straight from the cuff. He was also the first guy Wesley had ever looked at in a light different from camaraderie. His hair was always perfect, his smile always white, and he had laughter embedded in his eyes. Wesley's fiancée, Alex, wasn't perfect, but in the ways Wesley loved... Harvey he just liked a lot.

That being said, Harvey was also pleasant to work with. He knew what he was doing, like he was bred to be a lawyer. As an associate he was a workaholic, almost desperately trying to beat Wes to youngest partner (a few years later he had to concede that he hadn't won that battle). Wesley tried to be that older figure that you could go to for guidance, and he like to think he succeeded in Harvey's case. The kid came to his house and ate dinner with he and Alex, came to his office during lunch to talk about cases, and came to the watercooler when Wesley was hanging around.

It was only natural that when he inevitably came across a case that he found too difficult that he came to Wesley, pleading for him to go halfsies with him on this one. When Wes looked over the case and discovered most of the evidence about the opposition was circumstantial, he figured the partners were trying to test Harvey. But this case was difficult. There wasn't a lot of hard evidence, but what they had was good. They could win with it. But the defendant could probably beat them, and they had no way of knowing if he was innocent or not...

Another reason Wesley liked Harvey? They had the same moral code. So Wesley took the case right off his hands, unknowingly signing his own resignation letter. Anthony, the casefile said, and Wes never forgot that defendant's name. Ever.

"I'll take care of it, Harvey. Don't worry." And he smiled like everything was going to be ok.

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The wedding really was beautiful.

Alex had painstakingly chosen every color in the chapel. Red to look good on her, blue to look good on him, and white for the traditional wedding fair. She personally picked out all the flowers and dresses on everybody. Although, to be fair she took him to the florist to nitpick everything so she didn't have to be a complete bridezilla. She was thrilled, really, that everything was perfect. She claimed it was so rare to go so smoothly through the whole wedding, and she was dreading the reception.

Wesley's parents stood over to the side of the main aisle with his sister sitting down in the pew. Alex's mother stood off to the side. The wedding march started playing on the organ in the corner (Wesley would have played it better, but he was busy) and the slew of bridesmaids and groomsmen started coming down the aisle. Alex had her sister and two friends of hers, Wesley had chosen Harvey as his best man and two of his friends from college.

The dresses of the bridesmaids were a lovely red, their bouquets vibrant yellow ranunculus. Wesley had chosen black suits for his groomsmen with blue ties. They all looked very official. Alex's sister tripped on the red carpet and Harvey caught her, thank God. She looked embarrassed, but if that was their only hiccough then Alex should be happy. Speaking of...

She looked radiant. Her gown was a layered white with a lace collar and lace sleeves. Her hair had tiny blue flower pins in it. Her flowers were a deep red. She looked perfect. Her father stood beside her in his black suit and blue tie, noticeably flushed and nervous looking. When Wesley had asked him for Alex's hand in marriage the man shook his hand and congratulated him on the spot, but now he looked so sad.

As they approached the altar and her father flipped up her veil, kissed her forehead, and leaned in to shake Wesley's hand, he said aloud for the first four pews to hear.

"Take care of her, alright young man? She's a treasure," the guy choked up and shook Wesley's hand vigorously as he drew Alex closer to himself and locked eyes with her soon to be husband.

Wes nodded solemnly, "I will."

And Mr. McFarland moved Alex into Wes' reach, saying goodbye and giving the responsibility of keeping her safe to the young man in front of him.

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Paekman popped him one on the shoulder on his way out the door. "I knew you guys would be great together! I'll see you tomorrow Wes, gotta escort the lovely Ellen home!" Wes' best friend waved cheerily to him as the doors closed. It was late in the precinct, just after the Lady Killer case had been closed and Wes and his new 'partner', Travis Marks, had spent the better half of the night celebrating.

Earlier that year, when Wes was still eerily engrossed in his work in Missing Persons, the blonde entered a sharpshooting contest. He won, he had the plaque to prove it, but the darker man, Travis, always claimed it was he who won. They always butted heads ever since their mutual best friend Paekman introduced them.

What was strange about this night was that he and Travis were getting along. The brunet was in the breakroom getting the last dredges of coffee for them as they prepared to head home. It went without saying that Travis' ex partner, Phil, was definitely to be avoided until his upcoming transfer to Beverly Hills. Nonetheless, Wes had seen the redhead skulking around the scenes.

Finally Travis reappeared, already downing his coffee faster than Wes could keep up with visually. Travis looked around shiftily, eyeing the corners of the room and Phil's desk with unease. He looked behind Wes and momentarily froze, pushing Wes' coffee into his hand.

"Man, I'll see you tomorrow. I gotta get out of here for a minute," he said, then quietly as he leaned down to get his keys, "Phil's hanging out, I'm gonna book it before he punches me in the face."

Wes nodded and leaned back to his computer to finish filing the report on the Lady Killer, waving over his shoulder at Travis' retreating figure. It was quiet in the office save for his repeated clicking on the keyboard. Then footsteps came up behind him and he spun his wheelie chair around.

"Mitchell," Phil said calmly, resignation written clearly across his face. He stepped further into the fluorescent lighting, casting a slight shadow over his face. Before this case, before Wes had stolen his partner, the detective never gave the blonde the time of day. He was professionally cordial and never spoke a word to Wes unless he needed to find somebody.

"Did you need something, Detective?" Wes asked calmly, trying to hide how unnerving this confrontation was. A midnight run-in in an abandoned police precinct by the man you just spurned was not very positive.

Phil breathed out heavily through his nose, sitting down heavily in what would soon be Travis' chair next to Wes' desk. He pushed his fingers through his hair and rubbed at his face. The man looked exhausted and depressed.

"I just... have a favor to ask of you, if you'll listen, blondie," Despite the nickname, Wes nodded haltingly, "I know Travis and I haven't been clicking as well lately, but he's one of my best friends. I'll be leaving soon," He swallowed a bit and moved his feet across the floor, avoiding eye contact with his usurper, "and I want you to, uh, take care of the big guy for me. He's got a lot of stuff going on, and a whole bunch of issues, and a death wish if there ever was one. I put all his personal information like birthday and stuff in a folder in your mailbox in the breakroom so you wouldn't have to ask that stuff-"

Wes cut him off, a little surprised at the man's rambling, "I'm not going to let him die, Phil. Travis and I are... friends," the word felt a little uncomfortable on his tongue, Wesley Mitchell didn't make many friends so he had little occasion to use it, "I'll watch out for him, save him if I have to... I'll take care of him."

Phil's shoulders sagged in relief, his head sloping down to touch his chest. He breathed out of his mouth in a big gust, ruffling his collar. At last, he stood up and straightened his jacket, grinned at Wes, and stretched out his hand.

"Thanks, Mitchell."

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Travis set a couple of boxes down in the middle of the living room. Wes followed through the open entryway and set down two medium sized boxes on top of his. They both leaned on the pile. 1003 Claremont Drive was a very nice neighborhood if you listened to Wes, which Travis made a habit not to. The house he had finally settled for was a two story model house built in the last ten years with a big front yard and an enclosed backyard surrounded by a privacy fence that was the maximum height by city law. Two porches, two bedrooms, three bathrooms, a study, a large kitchen, and a huge living room completed the deal. Wes finally caved and bought a house when he hit his year anniversary at the hotel.

After four grueling hours hauling his crap from Alex's house and the hotel over here, borrowing one of Travis' brothers' trailers, they had finally carried the last few boxes into the house. The entire entry hall was filled with boxes and the living room was cluttered with furniture that had been in storage for a year. The piano was the only thing that was moved professionally, and it sat across the house in the study.

Truthfully, Travis was ecstatic that Wes was finally moving on. The house had been number one on his list, and like a string of Christmas lights if one of the tasks wasn't getting done, none of them would. Finally Wes would start to rebuild his life, remove Alex's name from all of his documents... and start dating. That was the only part Travis dreaded.

Wes panted and picked up the bottom of his worn out t-shirt to wipe off his face, the skin of his stomach looked smooth. Basically the only real arranging they'd done was roll out one of Wes' area rugs on the floor and then they'd moved the sectional, armchairs and television into the room. As far as unpacking, the living room was almost finished. Everything else was... not. But Wes looked happy for the first time in a long while. He was hanging pictures on the walls. Ones of women with blonde hair, an older version of himself, blonde children with who Travis assumed was his sister, Jennifer, were predominantly displayed while others like group shots of college sports teams and a room full of suits in a meeting room were put into a multi-frame that hung off to the side. One had Wes in it; he was standing with a brunet man that had a sneaky smile and a wide tie, swept back hair and a laid back pose. Wes wasn't in a suit, for once, but the guy was. It was obvious they were friends. Travis found himself getting a bit jealous.

The living room was done, essentially, and most of the boxes had been sorted to their specific rooms. Wes heaved himself onto the couch, too tired to do anything else. Travis threw himself down next to the blonde's head and put his feet up on the coffee table. It was a testament to how tired he must have been that Wes didn't even comment on that. The sun was rapidly going down, and Travis found himself glad he rode with Wes so he wouldn't have to make up an excuse to not have to leave. His hand fell off the back of the couch and landed on Wes' back, who groaned and grumbled a bit but otherwise didn't move.

Eventually Wes got up and stumbled to the hall. Travis thought he was getting his keys to take him home, and he was relieved when the slighter man returned with a bottle of really old scotch and two glasses.

"Hope you don't mind, I don't have any ice. We're going to have to drink it warm," he said with a small smile. When one of them got new digs or a new ride, they drank. It was one of the few things they did together that didn't drive them both insane. Travis pulled the table closer to the couch and took his glass with a laugh.

Soon they were both tipsy, at least. Maybe more so in Wes' case. They were leaning on each other in the dimness of the room, hunched over on the couch. Wes' head was on Travis' shoulder and he was giggling. Travis couldn't remember the last time Wes laughed like that. It had to have been when Paekman was still alive.

They were talking... about what, Travis wouldn't remember really the next day, only that they were reminiscing and laughing and then Wes kissed him. It was quick, like most everything Wes did, but it meant a lot to the shorter man, Travis could tell. He was finished before Travis even had a minute to adjust and push him underneath himself for a more hands-on approach.

So when Wes pulled away with a mumbled apology and stumbled to his feet, Travis was kind of baffled. Who does that? In all the rules of friends with benefits or friends-to-lovers you kissed them in a drunken stupor and then had sex, not a quick peck on the lips and call it quits.

When he came back to himself, Wes was pacing and mumbling to himself, or to Travis, he couldn't tell, but he was getting all worked up like Wes does. The guy was wound tighter than Travis' sister's permed hair coils. Travis stood up and stopped the blondes path in the floor, gripping his shoulders to still him. The blue eyes were clouded by a bit of alcohol, but otherwise panicked.

"Wes," he said, "it's not a big deal."

Wes took a deep breath and blew it out his nose, looking Travis in the eye, "Yes it is. I've wanted to do that for a while, but being drunk is no excuse. I'm sorry for putting that on you. I'll take care of it. It's not going to be a problem-"

"What's there to take care of, Wes? What if I wanted it? Actually, Why do you always have to do the taking care of? You do the reports, you drive, and I know about that pact you made with Phil before he left the first time," Travis took a deep breath, putting himself out there was hard. All his life people had told him not to worry about anything, that they'd take care of it. Well, he wanted to take care of something. He'd always taken the backseat, involuntary or not, and let people take the lead and fix things, care for things. People always took care of him, and he wanted-no, _needed_ to take care of something or someone. That someone was going to be Wes.

"I want to be the one who takes care of this. Let me take care of _you_ , Wes," he plead, holding the blonde by the shoulders and pulling him in so their foreheads touched. Staring into his partner's eyes wasn't anything new to Travis, but he found this time he was more nervous than he'd ever been before. When the shorter man nodded minutely to his question, Travis wrapped him up with his arms tight around Wes' waist. He felt hesitant arms come up around his neck and leant up, eagerly planting a big one right on Wes'... nose. They both laughed a little, diffusing the tension, and corrected themselves.

Wes had to admit to himself, it felt good to be taken care of.


End file.
